Some one is watching at the windows tonight, as onward through the
valleys and over the rocks of white, the gleaming wheels they speed with
might; calling the stars at the approach of night; concealing them away
with the speed of light.

I do not know what my title holds, because the way has been long;
through the orchards and by the waste lands swifter than the shadows of
the dawn. But the angel who watches through the train of time hurries
all on board along.

The shadows of the evening that enclose upon the fleeting sunlight are
swiftly turned away; as out of the night time the speeding wheels they
sway, before the gloom that's left approaching into the light of day.

Music rings above the hill tops, from the canyons that we passed by;
while sweeping beneath the light of heaven, that beckons from the
windows in the sky. Soon within the harbor the speeding monitor shall
lie; then shall be the answer to the soul which shall never die.

* * * * *